skin deep
title: skin deep
fandom: trese
rating: pg-13
author's notes: based off this fanart by joriben zaballa. thanks to meicdon13 for beta-ing! if budjette tan or kajo ever find this, i will cry.
It isn't unusual at all for Alexandra Trese to prowl the streets of Metro Manila at night. In fact, it would be more of an odd occurrence not to spot her or the Kambal making their rounds after darkness had blanketed the metropolitan.
It is, however, unusual for her to call Maliksi out to join her.
He reads the message one more time-"Malate at 11. You know where to find me,"-as if he hasn't already committed the words to memory.
He supposes this is what humans would call "making progress". Ever since he had taken on the challenge of wooing the imperturbable enigma that is Alexandra Trese, all their "dates" have been purely at his insistence. In fact, she doesn't even acknowledge them as dates, referring to them strictly as tactical meetings with the occasional coffee and snacks.
(Of course, she probably has a point, considering that they rarely brush on the topic of a possible "them" during those dates-slash-meetings, and for his every attempt to lead them towards that line of conversation, there is always something more important that needs their attention.)
Still, his sheer persistence must have finally worn her down. A burst of pride unfurls in his chest at the thought. His father had always said that he was far too impatient for his own good, especially now that he is coming into maturity, but he'd always known that he could take things slow when needed. This is the perfect proof of it.
Yet even with his hard-won progress, there would be no excuse to let his guard down. Alexandra might be giving in to him for now, but appealing to the Kambal and bribing her with tidbits of information can only get him so far. He will still need to use every ounce of cunning in his body to weave around Alexandra's solid defenses, and only then will he be able to breathe easier and reap the rewards of his efforts.
Slicking his hair back with just the right amount of gel and pulling on one of his more dashing outfits, he speeds off on one of his spare bikes towards Malate. Normally, he would take his favorite bike, but after all the buzz that the Maverick Rider has stirred up among the media, it would be too much of a hassle if he were recognized and delayed from such an important appointment.
(Not to mention Alexandra has put him on a temporary ban from taking that particular bike out anywhere.)
He speeds past the glowing neon signs and wafting clouds of cigarette smoke that serve as the unspoken boundaries of Malate. Everywhere, there are people teeming among the several bars and clubs that line the streets. The different sounds blasting from each establishment mix together in his ears, a dissonant harmony that somehow matches the city perfectly.
He rolls to a stop at one of the quieter street corners, though the sounds of nightlife still ring loud and strong, waves of chatter and singing that ebb and flow with the rhythms of the night.
The Diabolical is a stone's throw away, packed as usual on a Saturday night like this one. He stretches his senses a little, picking out the supernatural among the humans in the crowd and finding, to his surprise, more than one would expect hanging around a Trese stronghold. Either Alexandra has more allies than he knows of, or the denizens of the underworld simply like to flirt with danger.
Either possibility is strangely disconcerting, but he is distracted from examining that particular thought more closely when he spies a flash of skin out of the corner of his eye.
Perhaps describing what he sees as a "flash" would be the greatest understatement of the year, he thinks numbly as he recognizes the form that steps out of the alley. Alexandra Trese, unmistakable in her long black coat, and yet almost unrecognizable with the ruby red color that paints her smile and the way her usual black tank top-or anything else she might have worn underneath-is conspicuously absent.
He feels as if he has suddenly jumped back a few decades, an awkward colt on the cusp of adulthood. The length of moon-kissed skin just barely concealed by the coat is all he can seem to focus on; the smooth hollow of her throat, the fine lines of her collarbones, the twin mounds of rounded flesh (and here he feels himself swallow audibly), the hint of strong muscle beneath the flesh of her abdomen, the dip of her navel and the barely perceptible line leading down from it, disappearing behind the line of her pants...
Everything that is usually hidden from his line of sight by the severe coat she wears is now within reach, seeming to beg for his touch, and Tunkung Langit be damned if he isn't seriously considering it.
"Good evening, Maliksi," Alexandra practically purrs at him, eyes gleaming with barely suppressed amusement. "I'm glad to see you're on time."
"I-I got-I was-bike, my bike, and-" he stammers stupidly, all thoughts of being suave and charming thrown out of the window at the very sight of her.
If anything, his stupefaction only serves to elicit a giggle out of her. She steps closer to him, close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating from her exposed skin.
'Isn't she cold?' he manages to think dimly, his line of vision torn between her face and the all-too tempting stretch of skin. Her movement causes the coat to gape a little wider, and he rears back, breath starting to come in shallow pants. Seemingly undeterred, she moves even closer, one of her hands coming up to grip the collar of his jacket to hold him in place.
"Then again, you've always been fast," she whispers, breath brushing over his lips before she meets him in a kiss.
For the first few seconds, he is too stunned to respond, but the sensation of tongue tapping against his teeth spurs him into action. His hands slide into her hair, curling into the short, silky strands as his lips slant over hers. She moans softly, the sound lost in his mouth, and the small gap is enough space for him to slip his own tongue in and plunder hers.
The heady feeling of her fills his senses completely, from the pliant curves pressing against him to her intoxicating perfume and the lingering taste of cinnamon and caramel and mocha on her lips...
His eyes snap open, and the next moment, he has her pinned against the alley wall. A heavy hand clamps over her mouth, muffling her shocked yelp.
"Who the FUCK are you, and what have you done with her?" he snarls, shaking her with more force than might be necessary. She whimpers in discomfort and fear, but at this point, though, he doesn't give a rat's ass about this girl, would have no qualms about speeding her off to the nearest cliff and dangling her over the edge until she squeals. "Why the hell are you taking her form?"
Tears well up in the girl's eyes, Alexandra's eyes, but as much as it pains him to see her copy weeping, he exerts just a little more force on the woman's neck.
Enough to make her cry out in pain and finally revert to a different form, if not her true one - a dark-haired woman with a sweaty fringe and little else resemblance to the Alexandra he had kissed, saved for the smeared color on her lips.
He releases his hold on her and steps back as she gasps for air, swiping at his own mouth in disgust. The lipstick clings to his mouth, tasting heavy and artificial, and he takes a moment to spit to the side before returning his angry gaze to her.
"What do you think you're playing at?" he demands. "Does Alexandra know you're running around as her?"
"Woah, boy, easy," Wari wheezes, shooting him a dirty look as she rubs at her neck. "Duh, of course she doesn't. Do you seriously think she would let me?"
"Then what the hell were you doing?" Maliksi presses. It is a small comfort that she is now in a black tank top and miniskirt instead of the dark trenchcoat she had been sporting earlier, but it does not agitate him any less when she straightens up to shoot him a smug smile.
"Never thought I'd see the day you'd be so hung up on a girl," Wari smirks, twirling a lock of now blonde hair around her finger. "And Trese, of all choices? You tikbalang have pretty eccentric tastes."
The growl that rumbles out of his chest is one any tikbalang would recognize as a clear sign to submit or else. Luckily, the shapeshifter is not fool enough to push the limits of her teasing, although the knowing smile is enough to keep him on edge despite her submission.
"Get out of here before I hand your sorry ass over to Alexandra," he mutters, shoving her out of the alley. Maliksi pretends not to hear her muffled laugh in favor of leaning back against the wall, running a hand over his face and taking deep breaths until he feels he is in control over himself again.
He staggers out of the alley, pushing himself through the throngs of people gathered outside the entrance of The Diabolical. A quick flash of ID is enough to take him past the line and into the club where the party is in full swing. All around him, people are dancing or drinking or doing more obscure things in the darker corners, but he has no intention of losing himself among them tonight.
He weaves his way through the crowd, lifting his hand in greeting at the Kambal and giving a short nod to Hank as he goes. His feet find the now-familiar steps leading to the more secluded second floor of the club, a space reserved for the more intimate circle of the owner's acquaintances.
"Didn't think you'd be here tonight," a familiar voice greets him as he ascends the final step. He looks across the space to find a pair of piercing dark eyes watching him from where their owner is poised at the balcony overseeing the crowd below.
"Wari invited me," he shrugs, a dry smile tugging at his lips. Technically, it isn't a lie, although he wishes it really had been Alexandra who had wanted him here. "Might want to watch your phone by the way. Quick fingers, that one."
Alexandra remains silent, staring at him with an unreadable expression. For a moment, he feels like an awkward colt again, although in an entirely different way.
"I'll keep it in mind. You might want to watch yourself, too," she says at last, tapping at her lip with a finger.
He is struck dumb for a moment before cursing, pulling out a pocket mirror and squinting furiously at his reflection in the dim light. To his dismay, a streak of red remains smudged along his lower lip, refusing to go away no matter how hard he scrubs at it with his hand.
As focused as he is on taking out the stain, he starts a bit when a damp paper napkin is pushed into his hand.
"You'll take out your mouth like that," Alexandra chides in a tone she must have perfected on the Kambal, shooting him a dry look.
Wordlessly, he swipes at his mouth with the napkin until he is certain all traces of lipstick are gone. By the time he locates the wastebasket, she has already returned to surveying the scene.
He steps up next to her, watching the Kambal spin Hannah and Ammie on the floor while Hank serves coffee to a particularly distressed-looking partygoer. By the looks of things, the girl he's been wooing just dumped him on the dance floor, and the man looks to be in a sorry state.
"Sorry to make you jealous, Alex," he murmurs. "It's natural if you are, of course, but you really have no reason to be."
He hears her scoff. "Of your lipstick shade? Not at all. You could have picked out something more flattering for your skin tone," she mutters, taking a sip of her barako.
A loud laugh spills out of him, unbidden. His heart picks up pace when he spots the hint of a smile at the corner of her lips, too.
fandom: trese
rating: pg-13
author's notes: based off this fanart by joriben zaballa. thanks to meicdon13 for beta-ing! if budjette tan or kajo ever find this, i will cry.
It isn't unusual at all for Alexandra Trese to prowl the streets of Metro Manila at night. In fact, it would be more of an odd occurrence not to spot her or the Kambal making their rounds after darkness had blanketed the metropolitan.
It is, however, unusual for her to call Maliksi out to join her.
He reads the message one more time-"Malate at 11. You know where to find me,"-as if he hasn't already committed the words to memory.
He supposes this is what humans would call "making progress". Ever since he had taken on the challenge of wooing the imperturbable enigma that is Alexandra Trese, all their "dates" have been purely at his insistence. In fact, she doesn't even acknowledge them as dates, referring to them strictly as tactical meetings with the occasional coffee and snacks.
(Of course, she probably has a point, considering that they rarely brush on the topic of a possible "them" during those dates-slash-meetings, and for his every attempt to lead them towards that line of conversation, there is always something more important that needs their attention.)
Still, his sheer persistence must have finally worn her down. A burst of pride unfurls in his chest at the thought. His father had always said that he was far too impatient for his own good, especially now that he is coming into maturity, but he'd always known that he could take things slow when needed. This is the perfect proof of it.
Yet even with his hard-won progress, there would be no excuse to let his guard down. Alexandra might be giving in to him for now, but appealing to the Kambal and bribing her with tidbits of information can only get him so far. He will still need to use every ounce of cunning in his body to weave around Alexandra's solid defenses, and only then will he be able to breathe easier and reap the rewards of his efforts.
Slicking his hair back with just the right amount of gel and pulling on one of his more dashing outfits, he speeds off on one of his spare bikes towards Malate. Normally, he would take his favorite bike, but after all the buzz that the Maverick Rider has stirred up among the media, it would be too much of a hassle if he were recognized and delayed from such an important appointment.
(Not to mention Alexandra has put him on a temporary ban from taking that particular bike out anywhere.)
He speeds past the glowing neon signs and wafting clouds of cigarette smoke that serve as the unspoken boundaries of Malate. Everywhere, there are people teeming among the several bars and clubs that line the streets. The different sounds blasting from each establishment mix together in his ears, a dissonant harmony that somehow matches the city perfectly.
He rolls to a stop at one of the quieter street corners, though the sounds of nightlife still ring loud and strong, waves of chatter and singing that ebb and flow with the rhythms of the night.
The Diabolical is a stone's throw away, packed as usual on a Saturday night like this one. He stretches his senses a little, picking out the supernatural among the humans in the crowd and finding, to his surprise, more than one would expect hanging around a Trese stronghold. Either Alexandra has more allies than he knows of, or the denizens of the underworld simply like to flirt with danger.
Either possibility is strangely disconcerting, but he is distracted from examining that particular thought more closely when he spies a flash of skin out of the corner of his eye.
Perhaps describing what he sees as a "flash" would be the greatest understatement of the year, he thinks numbly as he recognizes the form that steps out of the alley. Alexandra Trese, unmistakable in her long black coat, and yet almost unrecognizable with the ruby red color that paints her smile and the way her usual black tank top-or anything else she might have worn underneath-is conspicuously absent.
He feels as if he has suddenly jumped back a few decades, an awkward colt on the cusp of adulthood. The length of moon-kissed skin just barely concealed by the coat is all he can seem to focus on; the smooth hollow of her throat, the fine lines of her collarbones, the twin mounds of rounded flesh (and here he feels himself swallow audibly), the hint of strong muscle beneath the flesh of her abdomen, the dip of her navel and the barely perceptible line leading down from it, disappearing behind the line of her pants...
Everything that is usually hidden from his line of sight by the severe coat she wears is now within reach, seeming to beg for his touch, and Tunkung Langit be damned if he isn't seriously considering it.
"Good evening, Maliksi," Alexandra practically purrs at him, eyes gleaming with barely suppressed amusement. "I'm glad to see you're on time."
"I-I got-I was-bike, my bike, and-" he stammers stupidly, all thoughts of being suave and charming thrown out of the window at the very sight of her.
If anything, his stupefaction only serves to elicit a giggle out of her. She steps closer to him, close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating from her exposed skin.
'Isn't she cold?' he manages to think dimly, his line of vision torn between her face and the all-too tempting stretch of skin. Her movement causes the coat to gape a little wider, and he rears back, breath starting to come in shallow pants. Seemingly undeterred, she moves even closer, one of her hands coming up to grip the collar of his jacket to hold him in place.
"Then again, you've always been fast," she whispers, breath brushing over his lips before she meets him in a kiss.
For the first few seconds, he is too stunned to respond, but the sensation of tongue tapping against his teeth spurs him into action. His hands slide into her hair, curling into the short, silky strands as his lips slant over hers. She moans softly, the sound lost in his mouth, and the small gap is enough space for him to slip his own tongue in and plunder hers.
The heady feeling of her fills his senses completely, from the pliant curves pressing against him to her intoxicating perfume and the lingering taste of cinnamon and caramel and mocha on her lips...
His eyes snap open, and the next moment, he has her pinned against the alley wall. A heavy hand clamps over her mouth, muffling her shocked yelp.
"Who the FUCK are you, and what have you done with her?" he snarls, shaking her with more force than might be necessary. She whimpers in discomfort and fear, but at this point, though, he doesn't give a rat's ass about this girl, would have no qualms about speeding her off to the nearest cliff and dangling her over the edge until she squeals. "Why the hell are you taking her form?"
Tears well up in the girl's eyes, Alexandra's eyes, but as much as it pains him to see her copy weeping, he exerts just a little more force on the woman's neck.
Enough to make her cry out in pain and finally revert to a different form, if not her true one - a dark-haired woman with a sweaty fringe and little else resemblance to the Alexandra he had kissed, saved for the smeared color on her lips.
He releases his hold on her and steps back as she gasps for air, swiping at his own mouth in disgust. The lipstick clings to his mouth, tasting heavy and artificial, and he takes a moment to spit to the side before returning his angry gaze to her.
"What do you think you're playing at?" he demands. "Does Alexandra know you're running around as her?"
"Woah, boy, easy," Wari wheezes, shooting him a dirty look as she rubs at her neck. "Duh, of course she doesn't. Do you seriously think she would let me?"
"Then what the hell were you doing?" Maliksi presses. It is a small comfort that she is now in a black tank top and miniskirt instead of the dark trenchcoat she had been sporting earlier, but it does not agitate him any less when she straightens up to shoot him a smug smile.
"Never thought I'd see the day you'd be so hung up on a girl," Wari smirks, twirling a lock of now blonde hair around her finger. "And Trese, of all choices? You tikbalang have pretty eccentric tastes."
The growl that rumbles out of his chest is one any tikbalang would recognize as a clear sign to submit or else. Luckily, the shapeshifter is not fool enough to push the limits of her teasing, although the knowing smile is enough to keep him on edge despite her submission.
"Get out of here before I hand your sorry ass over to Alexandra," he mutters, shoving her out of the alley. Maliksi pretends not to hear her muffled laugh in favor of leaning back against the wall, running a hand over his face and taking deep breaths until he feels he is in control over himself again.
He staggers out of the alley, pushing himself through the throngs of people gathered outside the entrance of The Diabolical. A quick flash of ID is enough to take him past the line and into the club where the party is in full swing. All around him, people are dancing or drinking or doing more obscure things in the darker corners, but he has no intention of losing himself among them tonight.
He weaves his way through the crowd, lifting his hand in greeting at the Kambal and giving a short nod to Hank as he goes. His feet find the now-familiar steps leading to the more secluded second floor of the club, a space reserved for the more intimate circle of the owner's acquaintances.
"Didn't think you'd be here tonight," a familiar voice greets him as he ascends the final step. He looks across the space to find a pair of piercing dark eyes watching him from where their owner is poised at the balcony overseeing the crowd below.
"Wari invited me," he shrugs, a dry smile tugging at his lips. Technically, it isn't a lie, although he wishes it really had been Alexandra who had wanted him here. "Might want to watch your phone by the way. Quick fingers, that one."
Alexandra remains silent, staring at him with an unreadable expression. For a moment, he feels like an awkward colt again, although in an entirely different way.
"I'll keep it in mind. You might want to watch yourself, too," she says at last, tapping at her lip with a finger.
He is struck dumb for a moment before cursing, pulling out a pocket mirror and squinting furiously at his reflection in the dim light. To his dismay, a streak of red remains smudged along his lower lip, refusing to go away no matter how hard he scrubs at it with his hand.
As focused as he is on taking out the stain, he starts a bit when a damp paper napkin is pushed into his hand.
"You'll take out your mouth like that," Alexandra chides in a tone she must have perfected on the Kambal, shooting him a dry look.
Wordlessly, he swipes at his mouth with the napkin until he is certain all traces of lipstick are gone. By the time he locates the wastebasket, she has already returned to surveying the scene.
He steps up next to her, watching the Kambal spin Hannah and Ammie on the floor while Hank serves coffee to a particularly distressed-looking partygoer. By the looks of things, the girl he's been wooing just dumped him on the dance floor, and the man looks to be in a sorry state.
"Sorry to make you jealous, Alex," he murmurs. "It's natural if you are, of course, but you really have no reason to be."
He hears her scoff. "Of your lipstick shade? Not at all. You could have picked out something more flattering for your skin tone," she mutters, taking a sip of her barako.
A loud laugh spills out of him, unbidden. His heart picks up pace when he spots the hint of a smile at the corner of her lips, too.